


Mer Girl

by Wildphoenix_ofthe80s



Series: What if this Storm Ends? [8]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Forced Pregnancy, M/M, Miscarriage, Nightmares, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildphoenix_ofthe80s/pseuds/Wildphoenix_ofthe80s
Summary: Not a polished fic as such, this is the piece I wrote myself before I wrote 'Drift Away' so I knew what actually happened before I wrote all the trauma.So it's a bit choppy but it is what it is and I thought somebody might like to read it so here you go :)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: What if this Storm Ends? [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531430
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Mer Girl

Aziraphale was feeling light headed. It was the eighth day in a row he'd felt unwell. He had let Crowley take the reins for a few days now, but the demon was getting a little tired himself.

"Hey, c'mon, I get it, you're pregnant, you get tired, but you can't stay in bed all week and not take the kids to school once."

"Mm." He managed.

Crowley frowned, "Aziraphale? Are you not telling me something?"

"Don't feel well. Sick." The angel admitted.

Crowley felt cold panic in his guts, "Sick? How long for? All week? Is it getting worse? Aziraphale for-"

"Crowley, please." Aziraphale managed, "My head is swimming."

"How long for, Angel?"

The angel pulled a pillow over his head and moaned.

"This is, this is bad, this is..." Crowley took a breath, "Ngk - I never expected - We have 3 other kids - I thought we were safe I'm not a demon anymore I-"

"Crowley. Its. Just. Morning. Sickness." Aziraphale growled, "Take the kids to school then come back and just hold me, please. Please. All this hurts." he gestured vaguely. Crowley tried to wrap his head around what the angel was referring to, but glanced at the time and shrugged it off for now, "I'll be right back, Angel. Just stay with me."

"Stay with you? I'm only p-" The angel gagged, rolled from the bed and ran to the en suite.

*

Crowley sped home from the school and up the drive. He was in the house before his click had locked the doors of the Bentley. He took the stairs 2 at a time, and panicked when he found the bedroom empty. Then he saw one of Aziraphale's wingtips poking out the open en suite door.

The angel was clinging to the toilet for dear life, white as a sheet and with no real reason for his wings to be out besides maybe the force of his retching. He was trembling and had his eyes screwed shut.

"I'm... glad this is our last for a while, Crowley." He managed.

Crowley flapped his arms hopelessly as he hopped over the angel's legs, "How are you so calm?"

"How are you so panicked? I've been so lucky up to now, but it was always likely."

Crowley knelt at his side, feeling the angel's body shaking as he held his husband's back and eased him gently to the floor. He nuzzled at Aziraphale's hair.

"What if... it's not just normal?" Crowley managed.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"What if its - because it's mine."

"Crowley, if it were going to happen it would have happened for the twins, not now when we're practically the same."

"I know - I know it doesn't make sense - I know - Ngk - I cant-"

Aziraphale turned his head, kissed his cheek and gazed into those wide serpentine eyes, "This isn't your nightmares, Crowley. Whatever you're thinking - it's not happening."

Crowley held him close, "It doesn't make it any easier to stop listening."

"I know." Aziraphale soothed, "I know." He laid his head gently against the demon's, "Let's go to bed. We can spend some time together, just us, nothing to do but lie in bed. Nowhere to be but together. Send the kids a note and some money for the sweet shop and let them walk home."

Crowley nodded slowly. He shifted towards the bed, supporting his husband as he folded his wings away and let himself be lay down and cuddled.

"Let me." Murmured Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around Crowley's waist. The demon kissed his forehead, "Angel, I-"

"I'm okay, Crowley." Aziraphale murmured, "Lying down helps. Just let me help you too. What do you need to hear?"

"It won't work, Angel." The demon hissed sadly, "Its part and parcel of who I am, you know that."

"I know." Aziraphale kissed his chin, "But sometimes talking it out, not saving it up..?"

Crowley shook his head, "It's just a dream, Angel."

*

Another week passed. Aziraphale counted himself at 6 weeks since conception. His nausea had cleared up mostly, but he was still abnormally tired, cold, and couldn't get through the day without a nap or two.

Crowley was still on high alert around him, and was dropping off and picking the kids up as the angel couldn't walk as far as the school.

Aziraphale felt drained in his true form, exhausted beyond anything he had experienced previously. Crowley fretted when he thought the angel was asleep, but Aziraphale had often picked up on it. He made sure to hold Crowley a little closer, and try a little harder, to get out of bed, to try and make it to the kitchen for a cup of something every day. To go to his books and read.

Every day he felt a little worse.

"You're not alright, Angel." Crowley told him gently one evening as he approached 2 months gone, "You shouldn't be this tired, even your aura is wilted." He helped him to sit up, "Here, let your wings out, I'll preen while you're eating, that always makes you feel better."

Aziraphale leaned forward a little, releasing his wings as he sat cross legged with his tray, slowly eating the soup the demon had brought up for him. A moment later he mumbled, "You can touch them any time, Dear."

"Angel." Crowley managed, his voice trembling. Aziraphale froze at the sound. His hands trembled as he returned the spoon to the bowl, "W-what now?"

Crowley plucked a loose feather, and reached around to show him. Aziraphale took and studied it. It had lost the lustrous, shiny hues that had come with the twins, and was grey-blue in colour, mottled with feather dust and with a shaft brittle enough to have been from a feather moulted months ago.

"You're sick." Crowley concluded, "I had better call Anathema, I told you you're not alright." He lunged off the bed to get his phone.

Left alone, Aziraphale gazed at the feather, moving his tray to the bedside table and shaking his wings out fully in a puff of loose grey fluff and dust. That in itself was horrifying, but the effort also left him panting. He let himself fall sideways against the mattress, welcoming it's embrace.

*

Anathema was on a train on the way back from some business in Scotland (or was it Lancashire? She was a Device after all), but she promised to be with them as soon as she returned. Crowley thanked her, aware of the panic in his voice. This done, he sank to the floor of the hallway, his thoughts going a mile a minute, feeling as though they were burning a hole in his skull.

He rocked gently, gazing at nothingness, and then slowly stood and descended the stairs. He unlatched the back door, and strode into the garden, uncertainly, the heat of his thoughts burning his tongue and stinging his eyes.

He sank onto his knees on the lawn, thumping the ground with his fists and screaming long and hard against the earth. It didn't help. The fire was still burning a hole in his brain and his heart with it's little giggles, your fault demon. Your demon baby. Your fault. YOUR FAULT.

Ten minutes later, Ariel followed him out. She pattered up to him, where he sat in the grass under the tree. The big tree. The one Aziraphale had heard God's voice under, years before.

"Dad?"

"Mm." Was all Crowley could manage, his head in his hands and tears streaming down his face.

"Dad. Why are the trees flaming?"

Crowley jumped awake from his funk. The fire snuffed itself out. The leaves bristled at the onslaught, blackened right across their tops, and he swung his arms out quickly, removing the damage.

He panted lightly. Ariel remained where she was, gazing at him, "Dada?"

"Ariel. Would you and your sister keep an ear open for the door? I'll put Puck to bed. I have to keep an eye on your father."

"Yes Dad." She nodded, "Who's coming?"

"Anathema." He replied.

"Auntie Ana!" She beamed. Her face fell at his blank expression, and she moved to hug him, "Will Daddy be okay?"

"We'll all do our best, little Ri." Crowley managed, stroking her short curls.

*

Anathema was, to Crowley's eyes anyway, perplexed. Inwardly she had a sinking feeling that it had something to do with the baby though, so she wasted no time in giving Aziraphale something to replenish his energy a little. Then she retired to the library to research. Crowley spent his time between putting the children to bed and hovering over Aziraphale, who though a little more able to converse was still, in Crowley's language, wilting. He paced and worried, occasionally glancing to where the angel lay barely moving. His energy levels were so low that he would have stopped all non essential things like breathing and his pulse, were it not for the infant within him that needed them.

Anathema bit her lip as she finally found where Aziraphale had tucked the further prophecies book, and began to cross reference. She worked through the night, and the more she read the more her suspicions seemed to be right.

An angel will cry with pain great as a fallen. Suggesting loss, of a significant nature.

She put her glasses on the desk with a sigh.

'Any luck?' Crowley asked. She couldn't lie to him over this, "Sort of, maybe. How is he?"

"Still sleeping. Told me to stop pacing or read to him."

"And you came for a book?"

"No." Crowley said, "I have to take the kids to school."

Anathema took a deep breath, "Crowley... this is not easy for me to say-"

The demon's eyebrows raised, and despite his glasses she could practically see those eyes, wide with panic and pupils blown with emotion.

"...Maybe you should take the children out tomorrow. Get them and you some air."

"I'm sorry - what? He could D-ngk" Crowley couldn't bring himself to say it.

"I don't think he will." The witch soothed, "But I think you've worked out this is to do with that child as well as I have."

Crowley took a breath, "What is it, Anathema? Is it... from below?" She could hear the weight of his words without seeing his eyes.

"Are you asking 'is this my fault as a demon?' - because if so, no. You have 3 healthy children who didn't cause him half so much trouble even when he was exhausted. I don't think it's because you're a demon, even if you were truly still one. I think maybe it just didn't manage to form correctly. And I think because of that it's making unreasonable demands on him. Either because it's aware somehow or because he is unconsciously trying to heal it."

"He keeps saying he's cold." Crowley remembered, "He's trying to heal it but he doesn't even know that's what he's doing. Because he loves it." A tear escaped the demon's shades, skirting down his cheek and falling from his chin. He groaned, "Stupid Angel, nothing is worth putting this much energy into..."

"Quite." Anathema replied. She sighed, "If this is the case though Crowley..."

He glanced up at her, not even trying to think of what was coming next.

"Either he will fix what's wrong with the child, or he will lose it."

That pained face again. She continued before he could speak, "At some point he may have to give up for his own sake."

Crowley stared at her, "You've met Aziraphale, haven't you?" He choked.

"I know." She replied, "His heart won't let him give up. But I think that maybe his body will realise he can't save this one. So tomorrow, you take the kids out somewhere. Cheer them up, refresh your mind. Come home, put them to bed happy... because he and they will need you. And it's not going to be easy by any means."

*

Crowley had occupied the children on Saturday, while Anathema kept an eye on Aziraphale. There wasn't much to watch, honestly. The angel had slipped into a deep sleep, not quite a coma but certainly a sleep he didn't require waking from. Sometimes his brow would furrow, or his hand would clench into a fist where it lay under his bust, but other than that he breathed slowly and evenly. As dusk fell, Anathema noted that his aura was a little brighter, and the flare of energy from his pelvis was greatly diminished. She bit her lip.

"You made the decision then." She murmured, taking his cold hand and squeezing gently, "I'm sorry, Aziraphale."

When the rest of the family returned, Anathema went to help, putting the children to bed while Crowley settled himself beside his husband. He nuzzled at his neck gently, earning a little hum from Aziraphale. The demon kissed his cheek and drifted into fretful sleep.

*

On Sunday morning, Anathema took the children out for breakfast, having drilled the demon with what sort of thing to expect. He sat in bed listlessly, watching his angel, when he heard his husband groan.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale managed, turning his head towards him

"'M here Angel." He took Aziraphale's hand.

The angel sniffed, his eyes brimming with tears, "Crowley, I feel bad."

"Bad, like worse than the exhaustion?" the demon panicked.

Aziraphale bit his lip and shook his head weakly, "N-No. My stomach hurts."

Crowley tried not to relax very hard, knowing the angel had an idea now what was happening.

"Crowley, Crowley I don't-" Tears spilled from his eyes. The demon rolled closer to him, holding him tightly, "I'm sorry Angel, I'm so sorry. I know. And if you couldn't heal them, believe me, I have no chance."

Aziraphale met his eyes, his vision swimming, but couldn't speak. Crowley squeezed him gently, distress plain on his face, "I'm so sorry Angel."

*

Crowley excused himself to update Anathema and to do a quick internet search. This done, he made his way back to his husband, "I'm going to run you a bath."

"A bath?" Aziraphale blinked at him incredulously.

"Help with the pain." The demon explained, "I'll be right back."

When he returned, he bent to gently heft Aziraphale into his arms. He sat him on the side of the bath, allowing him to check the water temperature before helping him in. The angel clung to his hand, his blonde waves of hair spread around him like flower petals as he pressed his neck back into their bath pillow for some support. He moaned, clutching at his hip.

"Angel?"

"Hurts..." Aziraphale managed, "Back, stomach, hips..."

Crowley kept the water hot for a few hours before he nuzzled the angel's forehead at a gasp from him, "How is it so hard, Angel?" He murmured, "It's so early, so tiny it's barely anything at all right now."

"I... I don't want to lose it." Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley gaped, "Angel, you can't just keep holding on, it will just hurt more and more. Haven't you suffered enough? Isn't it bad enough that everybody is scared we're going to lose you?"

Aziraphale dropped his head, crying silently, "I know."

"Angel, please." Crowley decided to try something else to convince him to let go, and placed his hand on his partners middle, "They're dying, Angel. Don't prolong that. Our baby doesn't deserve it."

There was a pause. Aziraphale squeezed his eyes closed a moment, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Then he reached and pressed his hands to Crowley's.

"Angel?" the demon panicked. Fresh tears fell as the angel raised his hands, drawing a delicate skein of light from himself. It was warm on Crowley's skin, and he sat up to help gently cup it together into a little ball the size of a marble, like a tiny forming star. He felt tears on his own face, and couldn't look away from the vibrating little ball of love.

Aziraphale choked a sob, "We love you so much. I'm so- I'm so sorry. I tried."

Crowley just leaned forward, touching his nose gently to it in a snakelike nudge, "What your mum said. Stay safe. Sweet dreams."

They closed their hands around it, concentrating until the airspace in their hands went cold again.

Aziraphale stared at the ceiling in dull pain and gave a moan as his body worked quickly, to finally get rid of the remains. Crowley sat beside him, silent, head down, a hand hanging over the edge of the bath and placed above the Angel's own where it lay on his stomach. At length Aziraphale took and squeezed his hand, the tiniest motion, and nothing like the pain he had been in before. Crowley squeezed back.

His other hand balanced his phone on his knees, and began to type a message to Anathema.

*

It didn't take long to be over and done with for the most part. Crowley was with Aziraphale throughout. He showered him after the worst was over, putting him back to bed and preening his wings gently.

Aziraphale slept. In a dream he wandered the void, calling a name he couldn't hear for a child he'd never held in it's physical form. At length he stumbled, exhausted, and when he stood a familiar feeling was upon him. He breathed, "My Lord."

He didn't have her full attention, he knew, but her feelings were there, with him. She was warm, comforting, sad. He let her hold him for a few moments before his brain rebelled and he pushed her away, "You-You must have seen-when you told me I could have more-you knew!"

"Of course I knew. It did not make it easy to tell you."

She was understanding, bathing him in soft, warm, healing light. But Aziraphale ached, from his physical being to his angelic soul, guilt and pain and sorrow and rage burning him up inside, "I want no more to do with this experiment! You have heaven and hell doing your bidding, I will no longer be heavens emissary for this!" His face screwed up, "I am no Angel, I murdered them, I should fall for not protecting that innocent-"

The deity's attention was suddenly squarely on the flustered, raging little angel, "You would blame yourself, when you nearly died. I sometimes wonder if you were entirely right for this role, Aziraphale. You get yourself so worked up and are your own worst enemy when you do."

Aziraphale was shaking despite the voice being soft and warm. A God was not something to be trifled with, even in grief and rage.

"I-I have allowed an innocent, God given gift to die. I helped it leave when there was still life there. I deserve to fall."

"If you believed that Aziraphale, you would already have done so." God seemed suddenly to loom over him larger than ever, eyeing his form as a child might an ant, "You are forgiven for your words, child, for you are in pain as the fallen can emote with. And emote he will, when you wake."

"I don't - What are you-"

"Aziraphale?" Crowley's voice broke through his dream, "Angel, you're crying again, please let me." He distantly felt the warmth and light change, replace itself with a table lamp and a blanket, a hand on his back and a wiry, dark form to his side, fingers wiping away at the tears that kept coming.

"Aziraphale." Crowley murmured, "Please. Please let me help."

Aziraphale reached to hold Crowley's waist where he sat, hefting his head so he cried in his husband's lap. Crowley stroked his hair and murmured soft words to him.

*

The children were told, though kept aside for the night. They each accepted the sad news, the twins both pleased at least their father was recovering from his sickness.

In the morning before school, Crowley finally let them in. Aziraphale had been quiet all night, though Crowley had sat up with him most of it, letting him cry. He hadn't even asked for a book or a drink, though the demon thought a coffee with brandy in was called for when he came back from taking the kids to school.

Ariel hopped up on the bed first. She had, with her dad's permission, picked some flowers for the angel. They were yellow and white, and very pretty in the morning light. Aziraphale accepted them with a smile and his thanks.

Alice by contrast had written a poem, almost a eulogy, where she bade farewell to a loved soul and took comfort in a warm gaze she felt forever more at her side. The angel had held back tears, and thanked the girl for her clever words.

Alexas, always the mischievous one, had done a drawing, a ball of light with wings, and brought a million questions with him.

"Where did the baby go?"

"Where all innocents go when they die, Lex." Aziraphale indulged his curiosity, "To heaven."

"So they'll watch us, like TV?" The boy frowned. Aziraphale blinked, 'I hadn't thought about it like that, son. I suppose they could."

"So when will you have another baby, Daddy?"

Aziraphale took a sharp intake of breath. Crowley picked the child up from the bed, "That's enough Lex. It's too soon for that."

"But Dad I want a small person to play with, sisters are taller than me-"

"You can have a puppy." Crowley told him. Aziraphale squeaked, "Crowley!"

"...or maybe a hamster." the demon added, "Go and get your shoes on kids."

He let out a sigh as the three filed out, "Sorry Angel."

"Our children do ask such questions."

"They wouldn't be mine if they didn't." He replied, "I did ask him to be gentle though."

"He's just a child, Crowley. Our child. He's already forgiven."

"He's a child with his Dad's sassy mouth." Crowley replied, reaching to hold the angel's chin so he could kiss his cheek, "I'll see you in a few. I'll pick up something from the bakery for breakfast. You rest."

"If you do the same when you return." Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley nodded and moved for the door.

"Crowley." Aziraphale said suddenly, "I-I don't think I want to try again."

"It's your decision, Angel." Crowley said, turning finally to meet his eye, "You know I won't hold it against you either way. See you soon."

Aziraphale watched him leave. He heard the children chattering in the hallway, the bang of the front door as it knocked against the wall and it's frame, Crowley ushering them all out, the keys in the lock, the Bentley revving. He held his stomach at another low cramp. This was getting old, he decided. Time to stop taking his lumps just because God said so.

*

Crowley walked back into the bedroom later with a tray on which was a box, "Pastry man sent his support", 2 mugs of coffee, and a plate.

"Thank you dear." Aziraphale replied flatly. Crowley wasn't even sure if he'd heard him. While he was out Aziraphale had flicked back to his male shaped form, the better to forget the pain he supposed, and Crowley swigged his own coffee as he handed the angel the tray.

"Try the coffee Angel."

Aziraphale stared at it a moment before registering the scent, "Crowley..."

"I needed a helping hand today, you probably do too." the demon replied. Aziraphale flicked his eyes back to the coffee, nodded and took a sip, "Thank you."

He sighed deeply against the mug. Crowley put his down on the bedside table and lay beside him, "You... need an ear, Angel?"

"I hope somebody up there is looking after them."

"You could just go and see, that's not what's bothering you."

"No." Aziraphale admitted. He paused for a moment, "I failed them."

"Angel you did everything, you didn't know, your body was doing it's best to heal whatever was wrong, but even you can't fix everything. You have to believe me, Anathema, even the prophecies mentioned it."

Aziraphale had dropped his head, and Crowley moved the tray from his lap in case he tipped it, "Angel..?"

"I think I spoke to... Her. In my dream last night. I told her I didn't want to do this anymore..." He drew a sharp breath, "...and she knew. She knew Crowley. She knew and I am so..."

"Angry? Hurt? Stinging and burning inside?"

Aziraphale nodded. Then he bit his lip and stammered, "I-I deserve to have fallen for not-"

"Aziraphale - you can't think like that, It's grief, you couldn't have done more, it would have killed you. There was no way we would walk out of this with a living child."

"I loved it..." the angel managed bitterly.

"So did I. But love cant fix everything, you know that. We've seen good and loving humans die before, Aziraphale..." He took the angels clenched hands, stroking them gently, "Grieve. Please grieve Angel. But don't blame yourself. Even if just for us both, and the kids. We've lost our baby, but we have each other, and your family needs you. Grieve Angel, it's the only way you can heal your heart. And - ngk - you don't deserve my fate. You have always been a deserving angel, moreso than those dull and petty bastards upstairs! You didn't deserve this. We didn't deserve this. We don't deserve this." He kissed his knuckles, "You are love. You have to grieve."

Aziraphale buried his head in Crowley's chest, holding him tightly. Crowley returned it.

They stayed curled together for hours. When Aziraphale found himself able to look up again, he found the demon had nodded off, exhausted by being awake nearly 24 hours. He carefully extracted himself from his partners arms, reaching for his coffee and drinking it cold with the hit right at the bottom. He shuddered at its bitterness and lay back, pastries ignored. Even in male form, his chest ached and felt cold, empty. At least the rest of his anatomy didn't. His hands rested on his middle and he sighed.

"I hope they're taking care of you, little spark."

*

Anathema felt strange approaching the house. Almost guilty, considering her role in diagnosing the problem. She had been visiting regularly, giving Crowley a break from the children that was always sorely needed. He'd taken to slipping out and doing his gardening, or feeding the chickens. Anything quiet and familiar, to help his mind deal with what had happened.

This morning Anathema entered the house a little nervously, knowing what feelings were welling up in her about Aziraphale's lack of self care. It had been long enough that he had returned to his library (a relief in itself as for the first couple of weeks he hadn't really done anything, even though he'd relented to Crowley making him get up every day and have a cup of tea) and yet Crowley still took her to the living room first, where the children were playing.

"Are you still tiptoeing around him?" the witch asked.

"No," Crowley said, "I let him get on with it, take him some food and decide when he needs to see the kids. I was hoping he would decide for me but if he was a bugger for getting lost in a good book that only seems to be worse now."

"Understandable. I had hoped he would start to come around though." Anathema sighed. Crowley looked more than a little worse for wear, tired and pale, but before she could press him on the lie, Alexas had hopped up beside her, "Hi Auntie Ana!"

"Hello Lex."

"Can you fix Daddy, Auntie?"

At least the little punk was to the point, she thought.

"That might be up to him." she replied, "But I'll do my best."

The boy looked at her slightly oddly, his blue eyes full of expressions far more complicated than he could express. Eventually he asked, "Can I help?"

"I don't know Lex, your daddy might need some adult conversation."

Alexas laughed. It was unnerving how he seemed to already laugh at innuendo, even if he didn't quite understand it. Anathema thought of what Crowley had told her about the boy, and his potential to be a muse of plot bunny proportions, and tried to brush the creeping shock away.

Alexas was already continuing his chatter, "Can we use honey, it very sticky. Or Dad should make him crepes."

"Son, it didn't work when you tried, and your version was funnier." Crowley sighed.

"His version?"

"The twins distracted us, while Alexas took it upon himself to get the steps and put flowers, eggs and poster paint in my mixer."

"Was CREPES!" Alexas replied, "Daddy said thank you."

"Daddy's polite, that's why." Crowley replied, "Son, it didn't work when I bought pastries from the village, what makes you think my crepes will work? Or your crepes for that matter?"

"Cos crepes make daddy go all giggly." Alexas beamed, "An' sometimes make him play like your wrestlers."

Anathema blinked. Crowley shook his head, "Your Daddy does not behave like my statue."

"Does." Alexas giggled, "When you was screaming Wahoo in the back of the car."

The twins glanced at the adults and their brother, seemingly about to excuse themselves. Crowley caught their eyes and made a palm down gesture to Alexas, "Son. Hush, or you'll get time out." He turned to Anathema, uncharacteristically embarrassed, "I'm sorry about him. He's a mischief. I keep expecting him to cause hellfire."

"Please don't worry." Anathema replied, "He is a celestial being born into a corporeal body - he can't help his brain running faster than his body." She lifted the boy into her lap, returning the topic to his daddy diplomatically, "Feelings aren't really physical, Lex."

"But good taste helps." He replied.

"My goodness he is a little Aziraphale isn't he." she smirked. Crowley managed a tired grin, "Apart from the mischief, that's mine."

Alexas giggled, "I'm Dad's mischief. And Daddy's little monster."

"I can see that." Anathema replied, "You haven't asked your Daddy about babies again have you?"

"No." The boy shook his head, "Dad said no more babies, end of, line underneath, no, no, nada, no." He reeled off the whole quote, counting the 'nos' on his fingers, "But I don't understand. If baby makes Daddy happy..."

"Yes, but you can't just replace one baby with another." Anathema replied, "Your daddy has to finish being sad for this one first, and even then, maybe he's afraid it might happen again."

"My Daddy's not afraid!" Alexas stated at her impassively.

"Everybody's afraid sometimes." Anathema said, "Isn't that right Crowley?"

"What? Oh, yeah, everybody. Not often when you're my age but, yeah."

"When were you ever scared?!" Alexas demanded, clambering over the witch to grab his Dad's arm.

"Well, loads of times, I mean not lately but-"

"Dad was scared when you were born." Ariel said.

"I think he knew you were going to be naughty." Alice chuckled.

"I'm not naughty!" Alexas shrieked. Crowley shushed the children, "Yeah. I guess I was scared then. In case you were hurt, or in case your Daddy was, while you were arriving. When your sisters arrived he had a very hard time. Hadn't changed his body, see, and it took a long time for your sisters to arrive. So yeah, I wass sscared." He hissed, stroking the boys curls and playing with that one red streak at the front, "We both thought you were all worth it though. And your Daddy, well, maybe he thinks it's not worth doing again because we already have you three. And you're enough." He smiled a little at the boy, "You're perfect."

Anathema felt herself smile, "Will you be alright if I go and speak to Aziraphale?"

"Course." Crowley replied, "What could my little monsters ever get up to when they're being so good for their Dad?" He looked Alexas in the eye. The boy grinned cheekily. Anathema decided it was safer to withdraw to the library.

*

Aziraphale was sitting at his desk, head in his hands as he leafed idly through a book, much too fast.

"You're not reading?" Anathema asked. The angel stood, 'Good morning Anathema dear."

"You usually spend more time on your pages." she continued.

"I... am having trouble focussing. I thought if I kept going I might be held by the story, but..."

"Understandable really." Anathema said, 'You've had trauma. You'll take time to get back to normal."

Aziraphale bristled a little, an unusual sensation for him to have in his friend's company, "Please do not apply human psychology to ethereal beings Anathema."

"No?" She watched him sit back down and put his glasses back on, "Why are you behaving like a mother who lost her baby then?"

Aziraphale looked back to his book stubbornly.

"Aziraphale. Put that pride away and look at me."

"I honestly don't know-"

The witch shut the book he was looking at, "Aziraphale."

He looked up at her, nervousness at her tone playing on his face.

"You can't ignore what happened, and you can't act like it's only your pain to deal with. Your partner is practically being a single parent, and your carer, because you can't get through the stages of grief without making it all about you."

"Anathema..." Aziraphale started.

"Aziraphale." She replied, "You hurt. I get it. I've seen people lose a child before. But Crowley hurts too. And the kids miss their mother, daddy, whatever it is you are. You may have time to get to grips with what's happened, but you won't get this time back with them, and they need you."

Aziraphale's gaze had become distant, "So did they."

Anathema inhaled sharply, and slapped his face, "Did you hear me?"

Aziraphale held his cheek, not looking at her, "I heard you. No need for-"

"Good. Come through. Bring a book-not that one-this is a kids book, right?" She had grabbed a book from the shelf, one of the children must have left it there he thought, "Read to your kids. Eat your breakfast when Crowley makes it for you. Remember what life is about, and why you wanted another baby in the first place."

*

Anathema sat in the kitchen with Crowley about an hour later, drinking coffee.

"It's quiet." She said presently. The demon nodded, and stood. He snuck down the hall, peering into the living room. Then he moved to the far side of the door, and ushered Anathema to him. She smiled at the sight. Aziraphale was sat on the floor, Alexas in his lap holding the book, and an arm around each twin as he read over the boys head. He paused so Alexas could turn the page, squeezing the girls shoulders gently. Ariel smiled as she cuddled up to him. Crowley moved back to the kitchen, the witch following so as not to disturb the moment.

"What are you making?" She asked, seeing him in the fridge.

"Hot chocolate. Caramel sauce and Marshmallows." He replied, "Think we might all have earned it."

"You're getting good at this cooking."

"You haven't tasted it yet." Crowley hissed.

"He's got a long way to go, Crowley." Anathema warned quietly, "But I hope at least he can start to work on it now."

Crowley stared at the saucepan he had been holding, then at the hob, and then turned to the witch.

"Thanks, book girl."

"Don't mention it, demon."

*

In a place so far away and beyond it might not exist at all, the door creaked open in a little workshop. The unknowable deity at work paused.

"Goodness, you've come a long way. I'm afraid you took the wrong turn though. You should be at the gates."

A fizzing ball of colour and light approached, bouncing a little on the floor.

"I see." came a murmur, "You wouldn't just like to have paradise? It's a free ticket you know..."

The sprite bounced again, sparking.

The deity chuckled, "Well, just as it happens, I think this would be perfect..." She ushered the sprite towards her work, "Oh my sweet child, you remind me so very much of your father..."

*

In a little flat in London, late at night, the Archangel Gabriel paced the bathroom. He was half way between pitiful amounts of nausea and rage, and horribly bored to boot. Aziraphale's file had recommended sleep, but he had a lot on his mind that was making adjusting to the idea of sleep a hard task. And nothing entertained him, even in this city of lights and noise. Truth be told he loathed the idea of mixing with humans at all, and more now he couldn't be certain of keeping his gross matter down.

Tonight was one of those nights where he was obsessing. Each step he took was the same. Ruminating about the hand the Lord herself had dealt him.

"I will carry out your plan to the best of my ability." He murmured, sitting on the side of the bath when his feet hurt too much to keep pacing, "But why me? You know I... feel bad about seeing it all, let alone... feeling it. Was it my punishment? Because of those two..? All I ever did was try to do what would please you..."

He paused, "And they pleased you with their squirming, despicable offspring, I don't know why I am being punished this way..." He slid down onto the bathroom floor, "What if I can't cope with all this? Is that punishable? Am I to - fall?"

He bit his lip and dropped his head. His halo glimmered almost imperceptibly in the dim light.

"I will do it for you, Lord, but you know my concerns." He muttered, "I'm not them. I'm not... that way inclined. It makes me feel... dirty. So dirty." He paused, "I would accept any word my Lord... if only I knew you were still listening."

He was still there some time later, when Beelzebub entered the bathroom. He didn't look up at them. The Prince of Hell likewise didn't stare. They moved to the sink, got a drink, and seated themselves on the edge of the bath. After a moment, they put a hand almost gently on his shoulder.

Gabriel pleaded silently that the Prince not speak. It was one thing to think all this through for yourself, but quite another to be pitied by a demon, for many the same reasons - Of course Beelzebub knew how it felt to be cut off from her love. But would he ever admit this was something they had in common? Probably never out loud.

The Prince didn't speak, and went back to bed shortly. Gabriel raised his head again, sighing deeply. Pride was a sin. But didn't he have reason to be proud? He was an Archangel - One mentioned prolifically in the bible, one the humans all knew of - and yet here he was, in a flat strewn with pizza boxes and flies, on the cool floor of the bathroom having a meltdown because nausea was reminding him there was a parasitic somebody in his corporeal body, put there by a demon on the Lord and Lucifer's own command.

If the child wasn't punishment for Aziraphale, was it maybe punishment for his pride?

"Mother..." He managed, finally breaking down, "Please explain it to me. Is it a test? Or a punishment?"

The floor was cold, and the flat was silent. Gabriel curled up, and finally fell asleep on the bathroom mat. A platoon of flies buzzed around the light briefly, before moving to lift the throw blanket from the sofa and deposit it over the prone figure. This done, they left, returning to Beelzebub. The demon was sitting on the double bed, yawning.

"Finally. Good night, dearzzz." The Prince nodded to the flies, and with a click, all the lights in the flat were off. Hopefully with Gabriel already in the bathroom, he wouldn't wake the Prince with his retching tomorrow.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Luzzifer." Beelzebub murmured, huddling down against their blanket, "Playing with the likezz of her..."

They dozed. The flies landed one by one on the empty side of the bed, folded their wings up, and went to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Firework starts in 7 daysish, I'm taking a week off posting to chill and play Final Hallway 13 :)


End file.
